Chapter 4: Startup 1.3
[April 11th 2011 ; 01:53 PM]
"Let's talk"
"Alright, what do you want to talk about ?" I answer.
"Well, first explain what happened."
"Well, I think Weaver should start."
The girl startles at my comment but nods nonetheless. We spent the next few minutes explaining what happened to Armsmaster, who besides some comments (Agreeing with my Undersiders hypothesis and commending the fact that we thought to get Lung away from civilians and important structures), he listened to our tale without complaint.
"... To be honest, I almost died." Weaver finishes the report with a grim comment.
"That is why we have the Wards program, to help underage Parahumans such as you get accustomed to their powers, and to keep them as safe as possible while they fight to make a change in the world." He honestly said it so matter of factly, as if he was reading from some sort of sheet.
The Wards were the under-eighteen subdivision of the Protectorate, and Brockton Bay did have its own team of Wards, with the same naming convention as the Protectorate; The Wards East-North-East.
"I... don't really like teenage drama." And that was it, that was her excuse.
I mean, It's probably not that simple, but she doesn't have the luxury to stay independent without a team for too long, the statistics paint a fairly grim picture of independent hero survival rates, so unless you're really sneaky, or very powerful (Like me!) That's not really an option unless you have an actual, factual, convincing argument otherwise.
For most capes in Brockton Bay, you either shack up or man up, because every single group is chomping at the bit to increase their number of capes, and they may not take no for an answer.
"I- uh, I ought to go now." She says.
"Wait!" You say. "Armsmaster, do you have a pen and paper ?"
I didn't know why asked him, but the legend just nondescriptly pulled out a notebook and a pen from his motorcycle. Armsmaster's specialization is known to allow him to put a lot of shit in one machine, but this is ridiculous.
But I go with it, writing both my number and PHO handle on a page and ripping it off, handing it to the teenage cape.
"Here you go, this has my PHO handle and my number, you can contact me anytime you want if you need help. You can't afford to stay alone, not in Brockton Bay."
She hesitates for a while. "I don't have a phone, but I will contact you through PHO." She eventually grabs the paper and bolts it in a random direction.
"Well, that was that." You attempt to break the ice.
"Yes, it was noble of you to do what you did." He says. "As a member of the Protectorate, I cannot offer such services to non-affiliated Parahumans, so I couldn't do anything about it. And her reaction to the Wards pitch meant I shouldn't insist on recruitment."
"I agree, her power looks to be very potent, but it has very obvious weaknesses that can be easily filled by being inside a team." Armsmaster agrees with a nod. "Anyway, is there any chance I could register today as an Independent Hero and Rogue?"
"I don't see why not, but may I ask why would you register as a Rogue? Your powers did not seem to have any obvious production capacity."
"Well, I would like to talk about that in a more private setting."
Armsmaster pauses for a while.
"I am obligated to inform you that the survival rate for Independent Capes is less than 20% over the first six months. Your safety goes up immediately upon joining the Protectorate, we offer the resources, training, and backup necessary for you to maximize your efforts in being a Hero."
"Ah... I'm sorry to say that I'm not able to join the Protectorate, some of the restrictions put on Protectorate heroes and the PRT's general protocols would hinder my capabilities more than they could help. My set of skills simply have significant incompatibility with government methods." You take a breath. "Something that I think will be more and more obvious to you as time goes on."
"I do not understand, but I respect your position."
This is strange, Armsmaster was way more approachable than I thought he would be, PHO has anecdotal evidence and quotes from many people who interacted with him that describe him as a "Human-Robot who only thinks about work". Apparently, conversation with the man is often stilted and awkward, and he is pretty anti-social.
I mean sure, his language was pretty formal throughout the conversation, but he was pretty cordial and respectful, minded himself, and acted very politely to both me and Weaver.
"Your defeat of Lung and his subsequent capture will paint a target on your back. Weaver has not been identified and did not play a role as obvious as you did, but by your testimonies, many ABB members were able to see you and escaped from this event. With your unmasked nature, they will definitely be able to identify you and attack you whenever you aren't prepared. So keep that in mind."
"I know, thank you. Is there any more information that may be relevant?"
"Yes." I didn't think he'd say that! "It is known that Lung intercepted a holding truck holding Bakuda, a mixed-race Bostonian Tinker who held Cornell hostage and was thwarted by the New York Protectorate. She may have been either forcibly recruited by the Gang or executed due to refusal, but the latter option is far less likely."
"Shit, does anyone knows her specialty?"
"We believe it is Bombs."
"Bombs?!"
"Yes, Bombs, or one-use items, but again, the second one is far less likely."
"Shit! And can Oni Lee's clones clone tinker tech?"
"That is a concern for us, yes."
"So the suicide teleporting bomber who uses his clones to detonate cloned grenades on his enemies has a Tinker that can make him Tinker Grenades?!" You take a deep breath. "Fuck!"
Armsmaster just stares at me.
I cough out of embarrassment. "Sorry about my misconduct, this was the worst time possible to capture Lung, with him gone, the E88 will smell blood, and they may or may not know the existence of Bakuda. So the ABB will have to raise hell either to damage the E88 enough for them to back off..."
"Or attempt to break out Lung." Armsmaster finishes for you.
I look up to the sky and take a deep, deep breath. "FUUUUUUCK!"
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
[April 11th 2011 ; 02:07 PM]
It took a while for me to calm down, but I did. The PRT and BBPD came through rather quickly and were quite thankful for the triage that we did previously.
Both I and Armsmaster were stationed next to the holding truck, guarding Lung's unconscious body in case they tried something, and headed to the PHQ.
The Protectorate ENE Headquarters, simply referred to as the PHQ is a refitted oil rig that sits in the ocean beyond the coast of Brockton Bay.
The PHQ is a floating base of operations that serves as the base of the Brockton Bay Protectorate. It is outfitted with a forcefield bubble and a missile defense system. It is visible from pretty much any point on the Docks, including the Boardwalk. The forcefield made everything seen through it look oversaturated, like a TV with bad picture settings.
The structure was a marvel of architectural design with its arches and spires, lit by tinted spotlights and set on a beautiful platform with hard edges and sweeping lines.
It also has a forcefield bridge that is used to fro and to the Base over the ocean! How cool is that?!
The first thing we met after going there was another member of the Protectorate, one Miss Militia.
Dark-haired and olive-skinned, Miss Militia wears a scarf and sash around her waist patterned after the American flag, and stylized, fitted army fatigues that accentuate her curves. She is probably the second or third most famous member of the local Protectorate.
Her iconic green hard light construct hangs on her left side pocket, constantly shifting from different handheld mundane weapons.
[Picture of Miss Militia]
"Armsmaster, this must be the new Parahuman?" She greets.
Armsmaster nods. "Yes, Accelerator. I will lead him to the conference room to sign registration papers." He answers.
She turns toward you, her eyes crinkling as a sign of a smile. "Do not mind him, Accelerator, was it?" I nod. "Armsmaster really doesn't do conversation, so he can seem a bit cranky."
"Oh, no worries at all." I turn to Armsmaster.
He nods in response and gestures with his hands to follow.
"I will get the forms." Says Militia. "Which one were they?"
"Independent Hero and Rogue" Answers the blue-clad Hero.
"Ah."
I follow Armsmaster to a nondescript conference room, the windows are uncovered, showing Brockton Bay in all her glory.
"That's a nice view." You comment, to no response.
We sit in silence, after which Militia brings the forms and sits next to me. Armsmaster had already left, he is a busy man after all.
The amount of paperwork is humongous, this is definitely a plot by the PRT to force people to join the Protectorate!
At my dumbfounded look, Militia lets out a laugh. "Most of them are actually for the Rogue registration, there is a great amount of scrutiny towards capes who want to monetize their powers." She says.
I flip through the different forms for a while.
"I can actually discard about three-fifths of these forms."
She raises an eyebrow. "Why is that."
"Well, laws that regulate Parahuman's involvement in business -Especially the NEPEA-5 bill- do so by limiting the freedom given to those parahumans in a secret identity. So any business registered through a cape persona faces more backlash from the government, but I don't have a secret identity, so most of this doesn't apply to me."
"I didn't know that."
"Yeah, in addition to that, I'm not really selling my power?" I pause. "No, it would be more accurate to say that the involvement of my power is very indirect."
"So..."
"So my products are completely Mundane, different, but mundane."
I reshuffle the paperwork, leaving any unnecessary papers to the side, and begin to fill the rest.
"May I ask, what exactly are you selling?"
I chuckle. "That sounded like you were talking about drugs." Miss Militia awkwardly laughs back. "But I'd like to speak about that when I have everything prepared." I put wipe my forehead in contemplation. "You know what, is it possible to get a meeting with someone on top of the PRT soon? I'd like to peddle my wares if you know what I mean."
"I'd have to call for permission first, please wait here."
She leaves for a while so I just fill up the forms, in impeccable timing, Miss Militia enters just as I'm about to finish the last piece of paperwork.
"Aaaand, that's done." I look up to the Heroine. "So, what's the verdict?"
"The Director has some time after tomorrow if that is okay for you."
"Perfect! When and where?"
"The PRT base, at 5:15 AM."
I stand up, extending my hand for a handshake. "I'll be there."
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
[April 11th 2011 ; 10:34 PM]
After yesterday, they escorted me back to shore, and I went back home.
I had to take the bus back, which was kinda awkward due to the stares, but I managed. I really need to get some sort of vehicle to move throughout the city without using my powers, maybe some kick-ass red motorcycle?
I like red if you didn't notice.
So after I woke up and did a morning routine, I prepared for my meeting today. I had asked my corporate acquaintances and friends to look for a trustworthy firm, one that is above-ground and as transparent as possible.
So I went with the recommendation of Jackson, who actually spoke quite well about his own firm. They aren't actually based in Brockton Bay but they have a shit ton of funding and like to recruit locally.
I had a meeting arranged with the local Partner in half at 11 PM, so I approached their building 10 minutes before.
I had bought a cane with me, for some reason I'm too used to having an umbrella outdoors, but ever since I got my powers I didn't really need to do that, so I replaced it with a short cane.
The security guards gave me the side-eye as I went to the reception, the receptionist was a beautiful young woman who gave me a pleasant smile.
"Welcome to Kirk & Clark, how can we help you?"
"Ah, hello. I have an appointment for 11 o'clock. With Mr. Harrisson, I believe."
She fiddled with her keyboard. "Yes, Mr. Amel Hanover?" I nod. "Great. Mr. Harrisson is waiting for you on the 4th floor, it's the first office by the entrance, you can't miss it."
"Thank you."
On the 4th floor, I was met with a jovial-looking 50-ish-old man, he wore a non-descript suit and cheerfully extended a hand toward me.
"Mr. Hanover! It is nice to meet you, Jackson spoke well of your character!"
I finish his handshake. "Likewise, you can call me Amel though."
"Of course, Amel. Call me Henry" He mentions the door to his office with his hand. "Shall we?"
I silently follow him inside.
"Please, take a seat." He said, sighing in relief as he did the same. "Would you like something to drink? Coffee, tea maybe?"
"Just water please."
"Water it is." He pressed the speaker on his phone. "Cory, can you bring me a coffee, and water for my friend here."
"Sure thing, boss." A voice echoed from the speaker.
"Alriiiight." He claps his hands. "So! I hear you have something you need my help with?"
"Well, I'd like to start a business, so I thought I might need some lawyering done."
He chuckles. "That is true." He scratches his chin. "So, not that I don't like the pleasantries, but what does this business entail exactly?"
"I think it's better to show rather than tell." I pull out a USB from my bag and slide it across the table. "Can you open this? There's footage I want you to check."
Henry hesitates but plugs in the USB and launches the video. His expression is skeptical at first but slowly morphs into chock.
"That- That's you?" He asks incredulously, pointing at the screen.
"Yeah yeah, please ignore the part where I'm bashing Lung's skull in." I interject. "What I want you to focus is on that Gun."
Mr. Harrison is still dumbfounded, but I feel his sight shifting nonetheless.
"That gun, is a creation of mine, see how it staggers Lung? If it weren't for his regeneration, he would have been knocked out, with THAT, size doesn't matter, you could be a 3-foot-long midget or a 15-foot giant, it wouldn't matter as long as you have a brain and a nervous system." I smirk. "Best part? I'm not a Tinker."
Henry's secretary chose an impeccable time to get in, his boss laid back on his chair, pale and shellshock, while I was serenely sitting there all serene and happy.
The poor man just stood at the entrance, all confused. "Is everything good, Boss?"
"Uh.. Yeah, yeah.." He takes off his glasses and wipes his brows. "Just, just, put everything on the table."
"Oh... Alright, boss." He hands me the water and puts the coffee in front of Henry.
I mouth a thank you, which he returns with a nod.
"Al-Alright, so what you're telling me is that you can make tinkertech, that everyone can understand?!"
"No, not really." I take a sip out of the water bottle. "It's not tinker tech, Tinkers just get schematics and instructions on how to make a machine that conforms to their specialization, I don't get that."
"You could say, however, that my power gave me a boost, so to say, in terms of instinctual understanding of physics. I'm sure any random guy who gets these powers will be able to use that to get a better sense of balance or be able to pull some Habinger-esque bullshit maneuver."
"But I was lucky because I had the necessary knowledge to put that instinctive understanding, into concrete, real, conscious knowledge that allows me to think up technology years ahead of its time." I point to the screen. "See the camera? That thing is attached to my drone. A drone that can easily go up to speeds of 90 mph, and has audio and optic scanners that can scan up to the surrounding 300 square meters for any criminal/suspect activity while never getting empty of power for an indefinite time, courtesy of my proprietary solar panel technology that is effectively 5 times better than any version out in the market. All that with just some scraps and repurposed electronic devices."
"All of that without any of the Blackboxed bullshit! No more handmade future technology, no more unending, constant maintenance requirements." I move my index finger, pointing it at my temple. "And I've got a whole lot more just sitting on my nogging, squatting, just waiting desperately to get the fuck out."
I stand up, uncaring for the screeching of the chair as it scrapes the floor, and offer my open hand to the man.
"I've got a meeting with Director Piggot of the PRT tomorrow, where I'm hoping to start an enterprise that will shake the world. How about you be my lawyer?"
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